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CAPTAIN ISRAEL 


THE HOPEFUL 


/ 




BOSTON 

Geo. H. Ellis, 272 Congress Street 
1899 



c 


COPYRIGHT 1899 

By Geo. H. Ellis 

59474 

of Con<j?<»s«i 
j’v.. (.awii, KfcEi^EO 

OCT 11 1900 

Copyright mtry 

N. 

SiCCM!) COKV. 

Of*t'Y<*r«j to 

OftDE^ DIVISION, 

OCT 18 1900 



PRESS OF 

Geo. H. Ellis, Boston 


CJ^HIS is the captairi s last voyage. 

He commands a new ship. 

It is the sea of life on which he sails. 

T'he ship is laden^ hold and decks.^ with hope. 
There is abundance for any harbor into 
which he may enter. 


CAPTAIN ISRAEL, THE 
HOPEFUL. 


Chapter I. 

LAMARTINE. 

We took the steamer at Boston. We 
were off to Maine for our summer holidays. 
Away from business and ‘‘society,” we 
were going to one of the quietest spots in 
the land, and to the companionship of a 
man whom sky and sea had filled with 
their own boundless life. 

As we drew near the Maine coast, a fog 
fell upon us, so that we had to thread our 
way in faith through the many little islands 
close to the southern shore. As we rounded 
a promontory exposed to the open sea, we 
got a touch of a storm which gave us an 
idea of what old Atlantic could do. Those 
of us who were not sailors were glad when 


2 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

we came under the shelter of two or three 
islands not far from shore. In half an 
hour more we were safe in the harbor of 
Bayford, where we were to wait for the 
little steamer that was to take us across the 
inlet to Lamartine. This inlet is called 
Frangois Bay. Promontories and islands 
shut it in from the great ocean. 

While standing on the wharf and looking 
across the bay, we saw a speck on the 
waters, puffing away as if with each puff 
the whole would go up in smoke. Nearer 
it came. “ Yes, it is the ‘ Ajax,’ ” was the 
cry. “ There she comes.” And, true enough, 
when the mite of a steamer came to the 
wharf, we read on its side the name of the 
mighty Ajax. 

We put our trunks on board; and, as 
there were five of them, they took up most 
of the space on the upper deck. But they 
served as seats for the first-class passen- 
gers, the only seats in sight : second-class 
passengers could stand. When out a little 
way, we were glad enough to pull these ex- 


THE HOPEFUL 3 

temporized seats close to the smoke-stack ; 
for the air was cool on the upper deck, and 
the warmth of the stack was most enjoy- 
able. 

As we drew near Lamartine, we marked 
at once the fine wharf, with many of the 
modem appliances for loading and unload- 
ing vessels. Some, therefore, thought that 
Lamartine was a busy town with a large 
shipping trade. But these new-comers were 
quickly set right by one who had spent 
many happy summers in this quiet place. 
“Lamartine,” he said, “is like some store- 
keepers, who put into their show windows 
most of their goods. This wharf has seen 
better days.” 

Valises in hand and trunks following on 
a hay-rack-wagon, we reached our board- 
ing-places, — country houses with hens and 
chickens about, with potatoes and corn 
growing in the fields near shore, peas ripen- 
ing, and, better than all else, good home- 
cooking within. 

The town itself kept close to the sea. It 


4 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

seemed afraid to leave the water to climb 
the hills that skirted the shore. Some said 
Lamartine did not care for such hard work 
as climbing; while others said its people 
were , of the sea, and their home must be 
by the sea. For them its waves gave forth 
music, and its storms were reminders of 
by-gone toils. The people held that the 
moon . rising in the east, and throwing a 
pathway of light across the ocean to the 
very foot of their town, was more than the 
moon did anywhere else in the great, round 
world. And as for the sun, when he har- 
nessed his fiery steeds and came up from 
the ocean depths, fresh from a morning 
bath in the clear salt water, he greeted 
Lamartine as he never thought of greeting 
the larger cities, which had no time to mark 
his glories, so immersed were they in busi- 
ness. The stars, too, smiled into the 
ocean; and all Lamartine saw that the 
smile was returned by the glad waters, 
which rejoiced in their fellowship with the 
sky. For these reasons the town stayed 


THE HOPEFUL 5 

close to shore, and left to the trees the 
hills as their undisturbed homes. And, as 
if in gratitude, trees and hills took their 
part in making the town a place blessed of 
nature ; for, when sun or moon set in the 
west, hills and trees together threw their 
shadows upon the shore, and far and deep 
into the bay, giving double beauty to all 
around. 

In Lamartine there are no side streets. 
It is a town of one street wandering along 
the seacoast, and, seeming to tire of being 
a town street, becomes a country road, and 
keeps on as a road, away from sea and hill, 
to the busy town of Edwardsburg. 

Two of those who landed from the “ Ajax ” 
were to live for the summer with William 
Israel, known in Lamartine as “ Cap’ Is- 
rael, the Hopeful.” One of these was a 
doctor, who said he must have a rest for 
one summer, even if he should lose all his 
practice. The other was a minister, who 
could never quite get rid of his liking for a 
talk on theology, no matter where he went, 


6 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

and who found that Captain Israel had a 
theology of his own, the web of which was 
the sea and the woof the sky, while the 
odd threads, which gave brightness to all, 
were out of the captain’s own life and 
Lamartine’s quaint ways. 



Chapter II. 


CAPTAIN ISRAEL. 

When darkness fell upon land and sea, 
Captain Israel and his two companions 
would go down to the shore to watch the 
tide come in. Their resting-place was an 
old upturned row-boat lying on the beach, 
its days of usefulness being over. On this 
the three would sit, the captain in the 
middle. “ Boys ” was the term the cap- 
tain would use in addressing minister and 
doctor together. But, when he spoke only 
to the minister, it was, “ Eh, Parson ” ; and 
when to the doctor, it was, “ Well, Doc.” 

And perhaps he had reason on his side 
when he rose to fatherhood over these two 
dignified professionals, whose smooth faces 
were in marked contrast with his own fur- 
rowed countenance. The captain’s face 
was like the sea, and the furrows, like the 
waves, deep and strong. And, though fur- 
rowed, it had to it the beauty of the sea, 
and the calm thereof. A storm, too, could 


8 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

sweep across it, like that of the angry 

ocean. 

The captain had another reason for 
calling his companions “boys.” They 
were boys again down by the sea. It 
brought back to them the boyhood love of 
fun. The drift-wood from far and near, 
cast by the tide upon the shore, called up 
the bonfires of days gone out of time, 
but not out of memory. The minister 
lacked the courage to say what he felt, — 
“ Let us be boys again.” But one evening 
he did get so far as to say : “I wish our 
boys were here. Doctor, to build for us a 
bonfire out of this drift-wood. It would 
make a grand one.” “Veil,” quickly the 
doctor responded, “ve vill build our own 
bonfires, and be boys again ourselves.” 
The doctor was born a German, and, 
when in earnest, made sad w'ork with his 
w’s, though at other times his English was 
perfect. The wood was gathered by the 
two newly made boys, and placed close to 
a large bowlder. The match was lighted, the 


THE HOPEFUL 9 

fire started. More wood was piled on, until 
the bonfire rivalled the moon in its light- 
giving-power. If the fire showed any signs 
of decline, the doctor would call out, “ The 
fire is dwingling,” and start off for a box 
or barrel just in from the sea, and so satu- 
rated with fish-oil that, when the fire got 
hold of it, the flames would mount skyward 
as if they meant to touch the clouds. And 
with the ascending flames the captain’s 
spirit would rise. Doctor and minister 
would wait for him to open the conversa- 
tion which was always a part of these 
evenings by the sea. 

“ These colors,” began the captain, 
“ the dark blue sea, the pale moon, the red 
flames, and that pathway of light on the 
waters from the moon to our feet call up 
my old notions about the days of the week. 
I had for each day its own color.” 

“ How was that. Captain ? ” asked the 
doctor. 

“Well, Doc., I’ll tell you. It was this 
way : Monday was orange ; Tuesday, dark 


lo CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

blue; Wednesday, dark red; Thursday, 
purple ; Friday, gray ; Saturday, light blue ; 
Sunday, a kind of pink. And, when I’d 
think of the day, its color would come up 
at once and fill my mind.” 

“ Odd I ” said the minister. 

“ One gets strange notions at sea. Par- 
son. But I rather liked my notion. It 
filled up the time, and broke the monotony 
of sailing ; and in a calm it was most help- 
ful.” 

“ On land do you see these colors ? ” in- 
quired the minister. 

“ Not now, Parson. But then, before I 
gave up the sea, a change came over my 
colors. I see now all the days as white. 
All the colors have united to crown all 
days alike with white. They are all God’s 
bright days.” 

“ Sunday and Monday you mean. Cap- 
tain ? ” asked the doctor. 

“Yes, all alike; good and for good,” 
answered the captain. “ And, Parson, that 
reminds me of something I want to say to 


II 


THE HOPEFUL 
you. You don’t feel hurt that old Cap’ 
Rogers asked me to say the words to-mor- 
row at the grave, when we put his boy to 
rest ? ” 

“ Not at all, Captain. You can best say 
the word. The office is of little worth at 
the grave. Things are so real there that 
the word must be from the soul to reach 
the soul.” 

“ ’Tis this way. Parson. When I came 
back from the sea to live again in this my 
old home, I brought with me notions of 
my own about God and death and the 
great life beyond. I found Lamartine peo- 
ple, like most others, in darkness. The 
days of the week to them were not unlike 
my old Friday, pretty gray, and often dark 
altogether. If one of them died, oh, what 
blackness. Parson ! And the parsons, some- 
how, at the funerals made all still darker. 
In the church the mournfullest songs were 
sung. At the grave all hope seemed to be 
buried in spite of what they said about im- 
mortality. And so I said to myself, ‘ Cap’ 


12 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

William Israel, God has called you to 
brighten up the lives of these people.’ And 
I set about it. And one bit of my work is 
that our funerals have some light and hope 
to them, though sad enough still. That’s 
why Cap’ Rogers wants me to say the 
words. I’m glad you feel as you do about 
it, Parson.” 

“ The fire has dwingled all away,” said 
the doctor; “and it is too cool for us to 
stay out longer.” 



Chapter III. 

CAPTAIN ISRAEL AT THE GRAVE. 

“ ’Tis time we were going, Parson,” said 
the captain, about ten o’clock on the morn- 
ing of young Rogers’s funeral. “ You are 
going with us. Doc. ? ” 

The doctor said he was, and the three 
started off at a brisk walk for old Captain 
Rogers’s place. 

“ You see. Parson, Cap’ Rogers was 
more than once my first mate. We have 
weathered many a storm together. And he 
wants me to help him weather this one. 
The storms at sea are hard enough; but 
there come some harder, a mighty sight.” 

“We need some one to say to the waters, 

‘ Peace be still,’ ” said the minister. 

“ Yes, Parson ; but the voice of hope and 
trust always says that, and the waters obey. 
And, when to-day you pray, fill up. Parson, 
with hope. Remember, we are not strangers 
or servants in a foreign land. We are chil- 
1 dren at home in the Father’s house. That 


14 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

stills the fiercest storm, Parson. I have 

tried it.” 

“I’ll try,” was all the minister felt like 
saying. 

By this time they had reached Captain 
Rogers’s home, a plain country house like 
its neighbors, perhaps somewhat larger, 
painted white, and with a piazza on two 
sides. 

There were no words between the two 
old captains when they met. They looked 
at each other and understood each other. 
Captain Israel seemed to say, “ I’m stand- 
ing by, Mate ” ; and Captain Rogers seemed 
to reply, “ I know it. Cap’.” 

Captain Israel introduced in Lamartine 
a new way of conducting funerals. He 
had the young men carry on their shoulders 
the coffin to the church. Thus burdened 
they would lead the procession. And so it 
was at young Rogers’s funeral : the young 
men led; then came the neighbors, men 
and women, young and old. 

The church to which they were going 


THE HOPEFUL 15 

was the town church. It belongs to no 
one sect ; all have rights there. It is a 
plain white structure, with Doric columns 
in front, and a steeple which for architect- 
ural symmetry has no superior. Back of 
it is a hill, sloping with its green side down 
to the foundation of the church. And this 
quiet spot, which always catches the early 
sun rays as they sweep across the sea, is 
Lamartine’s cemetery. 

On the way to the church the captain 
handed the minister a piece of paper. 
“ There, Parson,” said he, “ are the things 
I wish you’d read in the church.” 

The minister took the paper, and on 
opening it saw that it was covered with 
passages cut out of a Bible of large type. 
It showed signs of frequent use. 

“They are old. Parson, but they are 
good. They came from the depths of great 
souls, and so they’ll find all souls in their 
depths.” 

The extracts were from the twenty- 
third Psalm, and the one hundred and 


i6 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

thirty-ninth and the ninety-first; also the 
Beatitudes, and the words of Jesus about 
the lilies and birds, of which God took 
such care. 

“ And, Parson, read this. I can’t do it, 
but you can. What I think out for myself, 
that I can speak.” 

The “ this ” was a new poem, beginning, 

“ When light unveiled her radiant face, 

And wrapped the world in her embrace,” 

and with a chorus, — 

“ Death never. 

Life ever and forever.” 

It was this chorus best pleased the cap- 
tain, and he asked the minister to read it 
so that all should feel it. 

The procession reached the church. The 
minister prayed, then read the Bible pas- 
sages and the poem handed him by the 
captain. And, different from most funerals, 
there was no call to those present to come 
and take a farewell of the dead. “ For,” 


THE HOPEFUL 17 

said the captain, “ there is no farewell to 
take. It is 

“ ‘ Death never, 

Life ever and forever.’ ” 

After the singing of a hymn the choir, 
without any notice, formed a procession, 
and led the way out of the church to the 
cemetery. They were followed by all in 
the church, even the children falling into 
line. As they moved to the cemetery, the 
choir sang, — 

“He leadeth me 1 O blessed thought 1 ” 

All joined in the last verse, closing, 

“ E’en death’s cold wave I will not flee, 

Since ’tis my God that leadeth me.” 

The grave was reached and the coffin 
lowered before the singing had ended. No 
earth was thrown upon that coffin to chill 
with sepulchral sound. Nor was that holy 
air profaned by the words, “ Dust thou art, 
and unto dust shalt thou return.” 


i8 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

The captain spoke : “ My friends, often 
have you heard me say what I am to say 
again to-day. From this our hillside rest- 
ing-place we look out upon the broad sea. 
As we stand here, the sun floods both sea 
and hillside. Our lives are in the same way 
flooded by the infinite life, light, and love. 
At our feet fall the shadows of the trees, 
— trees we love, trees of our own plant- 
ing, most of them. But the shadows fall 
because of the great li^t. Were there no 
light, there would be no shadows. Death 
is a shadow cast for a moment on our path- 
way by the Infinite Light. 

“ See, too, how narrow this grave is. But 
mark well how it opens out into the bound- 
less sky. Life seems narrow, — yours and 
mine ; but, like to the grave, it opens out 
into the Infinite Life above.” 

Thus spoke the captain ; and, when he 
had finished, he gave a nod to the choir, 
which they understood. They formed and 
led the procession as before, this time 
singing. 


Nearer, my God, to thee.” 


THE HOPEFUL 19 

Slowly they marched out of the cemetery, 
all singing as best they could the uplifting 
hymn. As they neared the gate, the last 
verse was reached : — 

“ Or if on joyful wing 
Cleaving the sky, 

Sun, moon, and stars forgot. 

Upward I fly. 

Still all my song shall be. 

Nearer, my God, to thee. 

Nearer to thee.” 

It was a note of victory. 

When all was over. Captain Israel and 
Captain Rogers stood apart by themselves 
near the church door. They seemed to be 
alone on shipboard, looking out on a heavy 
sea which they must weather together. 
Their faces were filled with the hope which 
proclaimed the Infinite Harbor in sight. 
The two parted. Then all left the cemetery 
again to the sea, the sky, and God. 


Chapter IV. 

THE WATER OF LIFE. 

Back of Captain Israel’s house was 
a spring, known far and wide as “ The 
Spring,” and celebrated for the purity of 
its water. 

To get to it from the captain’s place, a 
small, well-wooded hill had to be climbed ; 
and the pathway was rough and stony, so 
that on a warm day the short journey 
thither would tire one and cause him to 
long for water. For this reason, as well as 
others, this journey was one of the Cap- 
tain’s pleasantest occupations. 

After an early breakfast the captain 
would ask, “ Who is for the spring? ” He 
would wait a minute, and ask again : “ Who 
is for the spring ? Eh, Parson 1 Well, 
Doc. ! ” Both were generally glad to go 
with the captain, especially the minister. 

It was on a certain hot August morning 
that the three climbed the stony little hill. 
They were without coats, and their hats 


CAPTAIN ISRAEL 21 

were in their hands. And, though he had 
often taken the journey, the captain, when 
they reached the spring, was the most ex- 
hausted of the three. Yet he waited until 
his companions had taken of the water 
before he drank. “ I like to be awfully 
thirsty when I drink here. When as a 
boy I came to this spring, it tasted better 
than anything else on earth. And, when 
out on the sea, many a time I have longed 
to be beside it, kneeling down and drink- 
ing until I could drink no more.” 

About the spring is a stone wall, which 
holds the water as in a well. The doctor 
asked when it was built. 

“ Not long since, only about five years 
ago, Doc. We used to kneel to drink, not 
dip into the water with a tin cup as we do 
now. And, do you know, I think it was a 
good way to do, to kneel. I’m glad that 
as boy and man I’ve knelt here. It has 
made of this place a holy spot, a sacred 
shrine.” 

The minister said something about the 
water of life. 


22 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

“Just what I’ve often called it, Parson, 
It is when one’s thirsty, and comes to a 
cool spring like this and drinks, that he 
knows what a blessing water is. And it is 
the same with real religion. When one 
knows God as his Father and Friend, and 
the knowledge lives in him, religion is 
like this spring: it is water springing up 
unto everlasting life. It comes as this 
water does from unseen depths, pure, cool, 
fresh, living. That’s a sermon for you, 
Parson.” 

“ I expect,” said the doctor, “ to hear the 
parson giving us all winter many sermons 
he’s got out of you. Captain.” 

“ Oh, let him. Doc. They’re not mine. 
They are out of Nature’s heart, out of God, 
rather ; for I like that better. Now I don’t 
say anything against books, but I wonder if 
it would not be well if the parsons talked 
less than they do out of books.” 

“ But, Captain, there is one book that is 
the water of life,” said the minister. 

“ No, it isn’t. Parson : that’s where you 
are wrong.” 


THE HOPEFUL 23 

“ But I have met none who honor the 
Bible more than you do, Captain. And I 
wish in my heart it was to me what it 
seems to be to you.” 

“ The trouble is you make the Bible a 
part of your profession, a tool only. It 
would be a good thing to leave it, if you 
could, and come to it thirsty: then you’d 
see the difference between the Bible and 
the water of life it helps you to.” 

“ How can I ? ” earnestly inquired the 
minister. 

“ Eh, Parson, that is easier asked than 
answered. Somehow, the Bible came to 
me, not I to it. It found me, not I it. 
The truth is, I did not much care for it ; 
but I began to read it on dull days on the 
ship. I read it just as it is. I did not 
know much about the things about the 
Bible, not as much as I know now. I 
had never heard of higher criticism or 
lower criticism or any other kind of criti- 
cism. I did not read it with any idea 
whether I believed it or didn’t believe it. I 


24 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

just read it. And, to tell the truth, it came 
to me — a man over forty — with as much 
interest as old Robinson Crusoe did when 
I was a boy.” 

“ I’d give the better part of my practice,” 
exclaimed the doctor, “ if I could say that.” 

“ I’d do more,” cried the minister. 
“ Robinson Crusoe once lived for me as 
the Bible never has.” 

“ Eh, Parson, it is a living book, when 
you get at it. I now treat the books as 
living, their writers as living. They talk to 
me in the flesh, and I talk back. They 
say what they have to say. I listen, and 
what finds me I take : what don’t, I have 
to leave. What is water to my soul I 
drink. What is not water I can’t drink. 
I don’t feel bound up by Amos or Isaiah 
any more than I do by you. Parson. Nor 
do I let Paul have all his own way. And, 
as for Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, I 
sometimes think I see beyond them to a 
Jesus they did not themselves see.” 

“ How is that. Captain ? ” both asked. 


THE HOPEFUL 25 

“ See here. Let us take this spring. 
You see that drain which carries away the 
surplus water. The water as it flows into 
the drain is good and pure ; but soon leaves 
float on it, and particles of dust cover it, so 
that it is not the same clear water it was 
when it left the spring. A little way down 
you’d hardly think it was water from the 
spring at all. It is not the same clear 
water as comes bubbling up from the white 
sand below.” 

All three, as by impulse, took a fresh 
look into the spring, and marked again the 
stirring of the white sands within. 

The captain took up his parable, and ex- 
plained it: “Now the noble spirit of the 
prophets is the clear water. The spirit of 
the greatest of prophets, Jesus, is the 
world’s clearest water. But leaves and 
dust have gathered upon these waters. 
The writers and speakers, one and all, have 
let leaves fall upon the waters from their 
trees of supposed knowledge ; and dust, too, 
from ancient thought has fallen upon them, 


26 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

and these have destroyed the purity of the 
waters of the spirit. I feel I can pick up 
a leaf here which fell from Jewish writers 
who wanted a conquering Messiah, or one 
there that fell from the limited scientific 
knowledge of the age, or that I can filter 
out the dust of rabbinical lore which lies 
thick on the surface of Paul’s letters.” 

“ But, Captain,” said the minister, “ that 
needs great scholarship.” 

“ Eh, Parson, it does. But not so much 
after all as it needs a soul. Let me change 
the figure. Parson. Some people, you know, 
in religion would sooner have a cartload of 
quartz than a few nuggets of pure gold. 
They want bulk. Their faith is a matter 
of length and weight. Now, I say. Parson, 
that I have an idea that I can tell the 
words of Jesus just as a miner can gold. 
His words sparkle as diamonds do. My 
soul feels the sparkle. And this is true of 
all the writers of the Bible worth reading.” 

“ You mix up your figures. Captain,” said 
the doctor. 


THE HOPEFUL 27 

“ Perhaps so, Doc. ; but the spirit of the 
Bible is the pure water, or it is like the 
gold in the quartz, or like the diamond in 
brightness. One can’t read the Bible 
freely and honestly without its spirit send- 
ing a thrill of life through his soul. The 
Bible is not the water of life. It is like 
that wall which holds the waters of this 
spring, or it is like this cup with which we 
dip up water. But, mark you, this spring 
is not the only spring of water, nor does 
even the Bible hold all the water of life. 
God is infinite.” 

“ I wish,” said the doctor, “ that we could 
carry this spring back with us.” 

“ No, Doc. I’m glad you can’t. If you 
could, it would be like the parson’s Bible, 
dead. Let it stay here in its native hills 
and with its old companions, the trees ; and 
so with your Bible, study it amid its own 
surroundings.” 

“ One more drink,” said the doctor, “ be- 
fore we return.” 


Chapter V. 

THE AWAKENING. 

“I SAID,” began the captain, “that I’d 
tell you how my eyes were opened. I don’t 
wonder, after my experience, that Paul and 
those who tell us of his conversion said a 
great light shone about him. Only in my 
case all was very quiet.” 

“ As it should be,” put in the doctor, who 
was prejudiced against excitement in relig- 
ion. 

“ Perhaps the reason I never took to a 
stormy way of ‘ getting religion,’ ” the cap- 
tain continued, “ is that I have had storm 
enough on the sea.” 

“ Besides, it is bad for the nervous sys- 
tem,” remarked the doctor. “ I think 
people ought to be decent about religion, 
above all things. What did the apostle 
say about doing things decently and in 
order ? ” 

“ I think they ought to be religious, above 
all things. And a judicious shock to the 


CAPTAIN ISRAEL 29 

nervous system of some optimists would do 
them and others good.” This, of course, 
was from the minister, who had to battle 
with indifference to religion of all kinds, 
— that which shocked the nervous system 
and that which left that system untouched. 
“ Please go on with your story. Captain. 
The Doctor and I will have this out at 
another time.” 

“ It is a short story ; but, short as it is, it 
has to do with two continents. Part of it 
belongs to Lamartine, and part of it has to 
do with a haven in Scotland. Mrs. Bidford, 
too, has her part in it. She was not al- 
ways what she is now in her way of think- 
ing. Once she was what they call good 
and sound in doctrine, or at least she 
thought so. She honestly believed that 
she believed what she professed. 

“ I was kind of off, at least according to 
common report. I could not help it, any 
more than I could help breathing if I in- 
tended to keep alive. It was in the air. 
The preachers were having it back and 


30 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

forth about Adam and creation. I never 
could feel a bit sorry about my share in the 
sin of Adam. And I came to think I had 
no part in it at all. 

“ Then, again, the rocks and stars were 
against Genesis. And, somehow, the ways 
the preachers tried to get the Genesis story 
of creation into harmony with the creation 
story told by rocks and stars didn’t seem 
to me to be square dealing with either of 
them. 

“ I kept on doubting and doubting about 
Bible stories, floods, and sun standing still, 
and angels coming down, and interferences 
generally, until I said, ‘ There is no such 
thing as a miracle : the glory of God is in 
the order and beauty of things.’ I got just 
where the good people all said I would. 
They were sorry for me, and there was 
need of it. Perhaps you think this thing 
called freedom was a comfortable thing to 
have. Well, it wasn’t. It was so new that 
I did not know what to do with it, and I 
didn’t know what it was going to do with 


THE HOPEFUL 31 

me. There were times when I wished I 
was back again to where I could take 
things just as they are written, and ask no 
questions ; but that couldn’t be, it was too 
late. There was no use in trying : I could 
not get back. I had to go out, and in the 
sweat of my brow earn my own faith.” 

“ The fall over again,” said the doctor. 

“ That’s so ; and I think that perhaps 
some such meaning as I found in my ex- 
perience is at the bottom of the story of 
the cherubim and the flaming sword at the 
gate of the garden from which poor Adam 
is said to have been banished.” 

“ After we eat of the tree of knowledge,” 
said the minister, “ we can never think as 
we thought before we ate.” 

“ But Mrs. Bidford, Parson, was afraid to 
eat. She,” the captain went on, “held on 
with might and main to the ‘ sound doc- 
trines.’ I remember well the day I met 
her in Warren & Birch’s store opposite the 
church. And I remember, too, what she 
was buying. I’ll never forget it. It was a 


32 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

paper of hooks and eyes. In our conver- 
sation we got round to religion, as we al- 
ways did when we talked a quarter of an 
hour together. You know that the weather, 
the, crops, the church and its squabbles, 
religion of some sort, and the aches and 
pains of the people cover most all we have 
to talk about in this quiet town. Politics 
has its place ; but, as we are most all of 
one party up here, there’s no great excite- 
ment over politics. 

“ But on that day, a cold February morn- 
ing, which perhaps made us both a bit 
sharper than need be, Mrs. Bidford and I 
did not get along as well as usual. I per- 
haps was to blame. Be that as it may, we 
got round to miracles ; and we argued and 
argued. And I think even now that I was 
getting the better of the argument, when 
she up and said : ‘ I don’t want to hear 
another word. Captain Israel. I’ve heard 
all I want to 1 ’ With that she shut both 
her eyes tight as she could, and said right 
out in earnest : ‘ I’ll go it blind I I’ll go it 


THE HOPEFUL 33 

blind 1 I’m as blind to all your arguments, 
Captain, as one of these eyes 1 ’ pointing to 
the paper of hooks and eyes she had just 
purchased, and which she held up in her 
hand for me to see. Just then like a flash 
the words came to me ; and I said, ‘ Mrs. 
Bidford, God is light.’ I think the words 
did us both good.” 

The captain paused. He was living 
over again the scene ; for he went on, half 
to himself and half to his companions : — 

“ It all seems but yesterday, though it is 
nigh on to twenty years ago. 

“My eyes were open. I wanted them 
filled with light. And, of all places to look 
for help, it seemed to me that Scotland was 
the last. The thought of its Calvinism 
always gave me a chill worse than the 
coldest day on shipboard. But to me 
Scotland is now a land of light and bless- 
ing. And this is the way it came about. 
My business took me to the city of Aber- 
deen. After transacting part of it, I had to 
wait a day or two before I could wind it 


34 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

up. What was I to do with this spare 
time ? I asked myself. But I soon settled 
that matter. I had long wanted to see the 
fisher-folk of Scotland. So down to Stone- 
haven I went, a seacoast town about fifteen 
miles by the railroad from Aberdeen. 

“ After I had satisfied my curiosity to its 
full with the fishermen, and was walking 
back to the railway station, I passed a bit 
of a shop. In it was a small window, 
across which was stretched a string, to 
which pipes and tobacco, candies and cakes 
were hung. In the midst of this array of 
small goods was a little red limp-covered 
book. It was close to the glass ; and I 
could read its title, ‘ Conduct of Life,’ by 
R. W. Emerson. Now this might not have 
attracted me at home ; but there, in such 
company, and in a distant land, I was 
drawn to it. I went into the bit of a shop, 
in which there was hardly room enough to 
turn round, and bought the book for a shil- 
ling. And I have often said it was the 
cheapest and richest kingdom man ever 
purchased. 


THE HOPEFUL 


35 


“ When I began to read, somehow I did 
not take to the first chapter. But I turned 
to the one on ‘ Worship,’ and read and read 
again. Life came to me, light poured in 
upon me. I felt that here in this book I 
was in company with a true believer, a 
man of faith. He said, ‘We are born be- 
lieving.’ I felt that faith meant a trust in 
the highest word of your own soul, trust in 
God in you and in all. Every line of the 
chapter opened up for me my own soul, and 
I felt that the sum of the religion of Jesus 
was implicit trust in God as our real 
Father.” 

“ You’d call that conversion, Captain, 
would you not ? ” 

“ I don’t mind. Parson, what you call it. 
I only know that I saw the light.” 



Chapter VI. 

ON THE OCEAN. 

“ The saddest and yet the trip that 
touched my life deepest was one I took 
from New York to New Orleans and back. 

“We were to go by Key West ; and as 
that was my wife’s native place, I took her 
with me. And we took our boy with us, a 
little fellow over a year old, our only son. 

“ I can understand. Parson, as I could 
not at one time, why, when Abraham was 
asked to sacrifice Isaac, the command runs, 
‘ Take now thy son, thine only son whom 
thou lovest, even Isaac.’ Of course, I 
can’t think God asked the sacrifice ; but 
the writer of the story wants to show how 
the human affections triumphed over an old 
and false faith. I don’t care much for the 
story, but I do like the writer. I like him 
for the emphasis he puts on a father’s love. 
Fathers can love, eh. Parson ? ” 

“ I have found it so. Captain. How 
came Jesus to place in the foreground of 


CAPTAIN ISRAEL 37 

his teaching the Fatherhood of God, if he 
had not found in Joseph a father’s deep 
affection ? ” 

“ But how we nave marred and blurred 
it, Parson 1 ” said the doctor. “ We physi- 
cians find how strong is the father’s love.” 

“ Well, Doctor, I’m glad to hear you say 
that. That God is my Father, real and im- 
mediate, everywhere and always, has gone 
to the very roots of my soul with life-giving 
power. The parsons seem to be afraid of 
it, as too good to believe. Now there is 
nothing too good for me to believe about 
God.” 

“ You were on your way to New Orleans, 
Captain,” the minister remarked, to draw 
the captain back to his story. 

“ So I was. Parson, — so I was. We sailed 
south to Key West, where I left my wife 
and boy, and went with the ship to New 
Orleans, where we took on a cargo of mo- 
lasses, bound for New York. In less than 
a month we were back again to Key West. 
There my wife again came aboard. But I 


38 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

noticed that she was not quite as brisk as 
when I left her; nor was the boy, either. 
Not much the matter, though, I said to my- 
self. She seemed anxious to come aboard, 
more so than I expected. For my part, I 
thought she would be loath to leave her 
folk so soon. But we were not long out 
to sea when I discovered the cause of her 
readiness to get away from Key West, 
for both wife and boy were taken suddenly 
ill. How I dreaded to let the thought have 
place in my mind. Nor would I give it 
place there, until my wife said to me, 
‘ Yellow fever, husband, both of us.’ ” 

The captain looked out upon the sea, his 
face lighted with a glory not before seen by 
his companions. They expected great sad- 
ness and were astonished at the transfigu- 
ration of his countenance. 

“ A few days,” said the captain “ com- 
pleted the work. They died. There is no 
need of telling of my loneliness, or of saying 
that fear as well as sorrow was aboard our 
ship. Few of us care to die, — least of all, 
rough sailors. 


THE HOPEFUL 39 

“ You know how we bury at sea, eh, Par- 
son ? ” 

“ I think so. Captain.” 

“ I got my loved ones ready for their 
ocean graves. And when all was ready 
I was alone. I did not ask any on 
board to come near. The men quietly 
attended to their duties. It was a bright 
night, the sea was still, the stars above 
made the ocean seem a second heaven 
beneath. So that it has always appeared 
to me that I let my dead move away from 
me between two bright heavens which gave 
welcome to my dear ones. 

“ What do you think of that last book in 
the New Testament, eh. Parson ? ” abruptly 
asked the captain. 

The minister hesitated to answer. He 
wished to be true to himself, but his train- 
ing and profession stood somewhat in his 
way. But he answered : “ It is somewhat 
puzzling, and I think that commentators 
have made it more mysterious than it really 
is. There are some fine thoughts in it.” 


40 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

“ That isn’t saying much, Parson. But 
it is those very fine passages that I don’t 
care much for. And you parsons read 
them at funerals. I mean, ‘ There shall be 
no more sea there, no more night there.’ 
What glorious revelations of God we shall 
miss without these ! The sky and sea are 
two leaves of the great folio edition of 
God’s real and wonderful revelation. They 
are part of an Old Testament back of the 
Oldest Testament ever written. They are 
open pages on which are written God’s 
wisdom, care, and love. Jesus loved the 
sky and sea.” 

The captain ceased talking, and stood 
looking out upon the waters before him. 
There was companionship between him 
and them. Neither minister nor doctor 
wished to disturb him. They led the way 
along the sandy beach toward home. The 
captain followed a few steps behind. 


Chapter VII. 


SEEING GOD. 

It was near the end of their vacation 
when Captain Israel gave to his compan- 
ions an account of a visit he paid to Boston 
as a delegate to the May anniversary meet- 
ings. “ This is how I came,” said the 
captain, “to take to that verse in John’s 
Gospel where Jesus is made to say, ‘ He 
that hath seen me hath seen the Father.' 
I was going down to Boston ; and the 
church folk said that, as I was going any- 
way, I might as well as not represent them 
at the meetings. When I got there and 
heard the speeches and essays, I said, ‘ Well, 
some of these meetings are good, some only 
passable,’ leastwise that is how they struck 
me. And, as I listened, I would sometimes 
wish that the ministers talked more out of 
a closer touch with real things than so 
much out of books. But that’s one of my 
prejudices, as you know. 

“But there was one meeting I’ll never 


42 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

forget. It was not only what I got in the 
meeting, but what I got after it. Perhaps 
it was after the meeting I got most good. 

“ You know, Parson, the street opposite 
the Public Garden. And you know there 
are art stores along the street. It was 
Wednesday morning, and the meetings 
seemed to have taken a rest ; for there was 
to be no meeting until afternoon. I put in 
my time looking into the windows of these 
art stores. Pictures of a mother and her 
baby boy I liked much, — most, though, those 
that had no light about the heads. Only 
plain woman and plain child seemed to 
touch me deepest. That was the way it 
came to me, and I had my reason for it. I 
have just told you why. 

“ I began to think about seeing my loved 
ones. And from that rose the longing to 
see God. I knew well enough the foolish- 
ness of the wish, for God is Spirit. For all 
that, queer things do stir the soul. Don’t 
you think. Parson, that these stirrings are 
prophecies of answers to come ? ” 


THE HOPEFUL 43 

I think, Captain, there are depths 
deeper than we have ever dreamed of. We 
are fearfully and wonderfully made in 
spirit.” 

“ But my answer came sooner than I 
could possibly think it would. As I was 
thinking in this way, I saw some of the par- 
sons walking in little groups to a brown 
stone church near the garden. You both 
know it ? ” 

“ Yes, Captain,” both doctor and minister 
at once answered. 

“ I said to myself, ‘ There’s going to be a 
meeting of some kind, after all.’ I made 
up my mind that I was going to miss 
nothing I could go to. We folk in the 
country are not so full of meetings that we 
have meeting-dyspepsia, as you city folk 
seem to have.” 

“ Have mercy. Captain, on the parsons,” 
pleaded the doctor. 

“ Let the captain lay on ; for I do think 
we so exhaust ourselves in meetings that 
we have little energy for much else,” was 
the minister’s answer to the doctor. 


44 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

“ As I said, I followed the little groups 
of ministers ; and, just as I suspected, there 
was to be a meeting. These ministers did 
not go into the church, as one might think 
they would, but quietly went round to the 
chapel back of the church. I went in, too. 
That chapel is not as big as our Union 
Church here in Lamartine. I took a seat ; 
and let me say. Parson, that, for a rich city 
church, that seat was about as uncomfort- 
able an one as you could find in any meet- 
ing-house I ever was in. 

“ The chapel soon filled up, — all min- 
isters. I was the only un-parson-like one 
in the place; but, as no one objected, I 
stayed right along. I guess you know the 
place. Parson.” 

“ I know it well. Captain ; and likely 
enough I was there that day. I’ll soon be 
able to tell you after you tell what you 
heard.” 

“Heard, Parson 1 Well, at first every- 
body was talking. I really think that I 
would give the parsons the prize in talking 


THE HOPEFUL 45 

against any sewing society I ever heard of. 
But, as soon as the chairman called order, 
there was perfect quiet. Then a simple 
prayer, and it was a prayer. The man that 
made that prayer was near God. ‘We 
will now listen to the paper by Rev. J. W. 
Kendrick on “ The Daring Faith,” ’ said 
the chairman. When I heard the name, I 
said to myself : ‘ Only a sailor lad would take 
that title. He’s a son of the sea.’ Well, 
he went on with his paper ; and how his 
words did glow 1 They were like the waves, 
all lighted with the sun. They showed 
that he had the brave heart of his sailor 
father. He told us that, even if we were 
not sure of an immortal reward, we ought 
to have such faith in man, such faith in 
this world, that we would work on, work 
ever, until this world was the divine thing 
it ought to be, and man a more blessed 
being. It was a brave heart out of which 
the words came, — a heart that had the 
courage of the sailor father. I felt proud 
of the lad, though, indeed, he was no lad 
then.” 


46 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

“ Oh, yes, I was at that meeting, Cap- 
tain.” 

‘‘ But that is not all, Parson. I under- 
stood that after the paper there was to be 
a discussion, but I did not just feel like 
staying for it. And there were others who 
felt as I did. Among these was an elderly 
minister, quite tall and straight, his hair 
long and white, his beard the same, his 
eyes bright like the stars, his voice quiet 
and musical.” 

I know who it was,” said the minister. 
“ He, too. Captain, had somewhat to do 
with the sea.” 

“ I found that out, for he said a word 
about shipbuilding. He was standing on 
the top step of the outer door of the chapel. 
Others were standing on the lower steps 
and on the stone walk which leads from the 
street to the chapel door. These others 
were younger ministers, who seemed to 
know the elderly man. They were listen- 
ing. And I stopped and listened. ‘ Those 
were brave words from Brother Kendrick, 


THE HOPEFUL 47 

boys. His is a daring faith. But, some- 
how, it comes to me that for us to believe 
that we are in the image of the Eternal 
One, and that the divine likeness is to 
grow ever more clearer throughout full 
eternity, is the daring faith, after all. And, 
boys, the most daring faith is, to my mind, 
the truest and surest one.’ My heart leaped 
within me. And the words ‘ He that hath 
seen me hath seen the Father’ burst open, 
and revealed the truth in them. I looked 
for God in my heart, and I believe I found 
him there.” 



Chapter VIII. 


THE LAST SUNDAY OF THE VA- 
CATION. 

It was the last Sunday in August, the 
last the minister and doctor were to spend 
that summer in Lamartine. There was to 
be service in the Union Church morning 
and evening. The parson was to preach 
in the morning ; a song service was to be 
held in the evening. 

The doctor always prided himself on the 
part he had in the service. It was to ring 
the church bell. It was one of his vaca- 
tion privileges and pleasures. On this 
Sunday morning he tried to put into the 
bell-ringing his feelings of sorrow on leav- 
ing Lamartine, and of thankfulness for the 
larger life the captain’s words had given 
him. And any one hearing the bell that day 
would say that the doctor had succeeded 
in making it speak for him. 

The bell’s call was soon answered by the 
people. The minister and doctor stood on 


CAPTAIN ISRAEL 49 

the green patch at the church door, and 
watched the little groups as they came 
from different side roads into the shore 
road, dignified by the name of Main 
Street. They came afoot, covered with 
dust. They came in wagons and buggies, 
and some few on horseback. Now and 
then a city turnout brought its master and 
mistress, man and maid, to the church, — 
one church for all, as one God for all. 

Captain Israel drove up with a big dem- 
ocrat wagon full of elderly folk, whom he 
had picked up on the way. John Hawkins, 
tall and straight, and spare as one of the 
pines of his native Maine, never missed a 
meeting. He was a pillar in the church at 
Lamartine, and he seemed to be delighted 
with his honor, — more so, indeed, than with 
the fact that he was a political pillar of his 
party in the large city where he lived dur- 
ing the winter. In his city church he was 
one of the leaders. He would walk up the 
aisle of the little country church, carrying 
his eighty years with the air of a youth of 


50 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

twenty. Judge Perkins, of the Supreme 
Court of the State, and all his household, 
were always on hand a quarter of an hour 
ahead of time. This he did on principle. 
“ Business methods in God’s service are as 
necessary as in the State’s,” said the judge. 
The little church was soon filled, with 
farmers and farmers’ sons, wives, and 
daughters, old sea captains and young sea 
captains, judges and lawyers, college pro- 
fessors and State magnates, old and young, 
rich and poor, learned in books and learned 
in nature, — God’s children. 

Captain Israel and the doctor occupied 
the same pew, well to the front. The cap- 
tain sat at the end next to the aisle, for he 
was to take up the collection on his side 
of the church. And next to him sat the 
doctor, who seemed to feel that, since he 
was the bell-ringer, he was one of the chief 
pillars in the church. 

In speaking afterward about the sermon, 
the doctor said : “I never saw the captain 
so well pleased. He sat almost perfectly 


THE HOPEFUL 51 

still. And now and then he’d say to him- 
self, ‘ He’s getting into the right harbor,’ or 
‘ The parson has got hold of reality,’ or 
‘ He is on the right tack.’ ” 

This was the doctor’s account of the 
captain’s conduct. And it is confirmed by 
what Captain Israel afterward said to the 
parson. 

The simplicity of the sermon, the appeal 
to the common heart of all, won. 

But never did a minister sit down with 
less self-approval than did the parson that 
Sunday morning. “What have I said 
that was original or even more than com- 
monplace ? Not a thing. Perhaps I’m 
not called to preach, after all. I had better 
give up. I have deceived myself these 
twenty years.” 

The open air, and the simple thanks 
which the people gave the parson on the 
way home, somewhat healed his heart of its 
self-inflicted wound. And after dinner the 
captain’s word not only helped him, but 
surprised him. 


52 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

“ Why, Captain, I said nothing but what 
any child could say.” 

“ Eh, Parson, and, if you did that, you 
accomplished the greatest feat in preach- 
ing, — leastwise, that’s how it seems to 
me.” 

“ How thankful I ami” said the minis- 
ter, speaking less to the captain than to 
some Unseen One. 

“ I think. Parson, what touched all this 
morning was the reality in you and your 
words. You felt that there was no use 
talking in a learned way. The college 
professors were to the right of you, and 
they know more than you about what’s in 
the books. The farmers and the sea cap- 
tains were to the left of you, and you could 
not talk out of the books to them ; for they 
would not understand you. So you had to 
let your heart speak, and it spoke. But I 
am afraid, Parson, that your theology was 
not up to the standard.” 

“ How so. Captain ? ” 

“ This way. Parson ; and here’s the doc- 


THE HOPEFUL 53 

tor to confirm my words. You were too 
real, too simple, for the standards. You 
were like the spring, clear to the depths, 
with the white sands below, bubbling up in 
purest water.” 

“ The captain has struck the truth. Par- 
son. I’m afraid I’ll have to report you to 
the church board, when we get home. 
What do you say ? ” asked the doctor. 

“ Doctor, you know I want to be true to 
my church,” the minister answered. 

“ I want to be true to my life,” protested 
the doctor. 

“ And that is just what you were to-day, 
Parson, and made us feel we ought to be. 
How real you made Jesus, when you said 
he was the ‘ most human of us all,’ ‘ the 
revelation of the spiritual richness of man- 
kind ’ 1 Why, you made one feel that Jesus 
could be and was a real example and an 
inspiration to the weakest, frailest human 
being. You did not picture him as a war- 
rior, clad in perfect armor, sent to fight a 
great battle, while we were sent into the 


54 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

same battle with no armor and with every- 
thing to hinder us. No, Parson, you got at 
the reality. Jesus and you and I are in the 
same battle, with the same armor.” 

“ But, Captain, I did not say ‘ mere man,’ ” 
anxiously urged the minister, who still was 
the slave of words. 

“ No, Parson, ‘ most man ’ was your 
thought, whether or not it was your word. 
And it is the thought of all in their hearts, 
whatever may be their creeds.” The cap- 
tain was much in earnest. 

“ And, more, you made us feel God near 
us. And here let me tell you a story. It 
will be the one to most remember this vaca- 
tion by. You know that during the winter 
some fifteen or twenty of our town folk 
meet at my house every Friday evening. 
We gather around the long table in the 
dining-room. I sit at the head of the table, 
for I was made the leader. We take a Bible 
chapter or some foundation truth in re- 
ligion. There is perfect liberty and true 
reverence. The folk bring little blocks of 


THE HOPEFUL 55 

writing paper and pencils, and we take 
notes, and compare notes. 

“ Among our number is Miss Morton, who 
thinks for herself, and so does not always see 
as I do. Nor does she hide her thoughts 
under a bushel. She says what she thinks. 
Sometimes she so has disagreed with me 
that she has protested, ‘ You want to de- 
stroy everything. Captain.’ I’d answer, 
‘ No, I’m building higher and broader. 
Miss Morton.’ But never mind our argu- 
ments. For seven years we have kept 
up those meetings, — rich feasts to me 
they have been. I have seen into the 
minds and hearts of people. At the close 
of the seventh year Miss Morton, when we 
were alone for a minute, said quietly, but 
earnestly ; ‘ Captain Israel, one thing I want 
to say. You have made God real to me.’ 

“ Eh, Parson, and you. Doc., if there are 
any crowns yonder, and any gems in those 
crowns, ‘ You have made God real to me ’ 
will be the brightest gem in mine, if there 
is one for me.” 


LilC. 


56 CAPTAIN ISRAEL 

There was silence for a few minutes, 
which was broken by a question from the 
minister. 

“ You think, then, there was some of that 
reality to my words this morning. Captain ? ” 
“ I do. Parson.” 

“ Thank you, Captain.” 

“ And it is just that same reality I always 
find in Jesus’ words, deeper and richer 
every time I go to them. In his deepest 
sorrow God is still ‘Father.* And the 
name comes from his lips as no mere 
phrase, but as expression of the deep rela- 
tionship between God and man. Suffering 
and dying on the cross, still ‘ Father.’ 
Jesus makes us feel God by our side, 
helper and friend and companion in life’s 
joys and life’s sorrows. He makes God 
real.” 

The End. 


4 





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